Dick Longg: Sexual Saviour of the Universe

by Mark Leigh

  The only thing Dick could think of saying was the very matter-of-fact and not very inspiring, ‘Could we raise curtain number one?’.

  On cue a junior technician at the side of the stage turned a switch. A mechanical winch slowly raised the first curtain number until it revealed a life-sized mannequin dressed as a prostitute, which is to say that it was attractive, displaying an excess of make-up, stockinged-leg and cleavage.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen’, Dick explained. ‘A prostitute, with which you will all be familiar’.

  Half the audience gasped. Dick couldn’t make out what the other half were saying as they were all talking at once, although by their tone he could tell they were incensed and disgusted. And probably more than a little appalled.

  ‘What I mean’, Dick quickly added, trying to defuse the situation, ‘is that you will be familiar with mechanical prostitutes’.

  More gasps.

  ‘When I say “familiar”’, Dick went on, ‘I mean “have knowledge of”, not have intimate relationships’. Now he was babbling. ‘And when I say “have knowledge” of, it’s not a metaphor for sexual relations’.

  By now the audience were quite confused. Some of them were angry at the implications of what Dick was saying, but most of them were just confused. Dick thought it was best if he just kept talking.

  ‘Although authentic-looking in all respects, this prostitute is in fact a mechanical one especially constructed from the original plans to resemble one of the fifteen ‘rogue’ harlots currently on the loose’. Dick felt he’d said enough about prostitutes, mechanical or real and, mopping his brow, continued. ‘Raise curtain number two!’.

  The same junior technician operated another switch and curtain two started to rise. It was just two feet from the stage floor when the winch gave a mechanical groan which abruptly turned into a mechanical death rattle. The curtain suddenly stopped. The audience stared at the two brown checked trouser legs that had been revealed beneath it. The junior technician frantically turned the switch on and off several times. To Dick’s relief it began to raise again, revealing more trouser leg. Then it again stopped suddenly at waist height. One of the Party members seated at the back shouted, ‘Rubbish!’.

  Sensing that this momentous demonstration was rapidly deteriorating into a momentous farce Dick rushed over to the side of the stage, punched the junior technician in the face and ripped the second curtain down. Falling to the platform floor it revealed another mannequin; this one was a smartly-dressed gentleman in his thirties. Glaring at Dr. Hargreaves, Dick made a caustic remark about how he hoped the non-functioning curtain was not indicative of the technological skills of the good doctor and his team. In response to this comment he heard some sniggering from the audience and this made him feel better. This was Dick’s way of getting back at the technicians for excluding him. And especially for not letting him wear a white lab coat.

  The mannequin wore a smart brown checked suit, a matching waistcoat, shiny black brogues, a light blue silk shirt, a dark blue cravat and a tan coloured bowler hat. He was very handsome and extremely dapper. If the audience were impressed with his appearance then they didn’t show it. Dick looked at them and they looked back at him. It was a look that hunched its shoulders and implied ‘So?’ One important-looking gentleman seated at the front peered through his monocle.

  ‘Is that what all we’ve come to see? A smartly-attired dummy?’, he said scornfully.

  ‘No’, Dick retorted, now becoming angry. ‘If I just wanted you to see a smartly-attired dummy I’d have invited you to look in a mirror’.

  The monocle man blustered and harrumphed and before he could get any more words out Dick had walked around to the back of the prostitute mannequin and flicked a hidden switch at the nape of its neck, concealed by its long hair. The prostitute mannequin’s dull eyes glimmered, brightened and adjusted their focus. At the same time the figure shifted the weight on her feet, adjusting her balance and improving her posture. She looked around the room and smiled. Everything about her looked real, from her skin texture, her subtle facial expressions and the rise and fall of her ample bosom. Especially the ‘ample’ bit. She was, Dick thought, scarily human and even more scarily, scarily sexy.

  Dick moved over to the male figure and operated the same concealed switch located just under its collar. It powered-up and came to life in a similar way. Dick looked into its eyes and shivered. He wondered if a mechanical man who was responding to a series of programmed algorithms and other words he had overheard but didn’t understand, could show menace. This one seemed to. Both figures stared at each other. Dick stared at his audience.

  ‘Lady and gentlemen’, (Vera was only one lady present and although her recent predatory behaviour had been far from lady-like, Dick thought it was only right to address her in this formal way). ‘This mechanical male will be sent into the seedier parts of the City in an attempt to flush out the concealed harlots. A handsome, strong figure; well-dressed with an air of confidence and the trappings and deportment of a wealthy man. Behold! A man willing and able to pay for sexual congress’.

  The audience continued to look intently at Dick as he stood between the two motionless figures. ‘This man will, no doubt, attract the attention of the harlots. This demonstration will show how we expect any liaisons to play out’.

  With that, Dick moved away from the figures and took up a position to the side of the stage near to the junior technician who, in a reflex as Dick approached, ducked down, holding his hands to his face. As if on cue (which it was, because that’s how she was programmed), the prostitute smiled at the man and raised her skirt and petticoats to reveal a cheeky garter on her shapely stockinged leg. The audience gasped at this wanton display of brazen sexuality. Outwardly they were shocked and horrified at what they were seeing. Inwardly however they were pleased they’d taken up a career as Party members or scientists because it meant they could freely observe a lady in her underwear as part of their job (and let’s face it, not many jobs outside of doctors and morticians allowed you this sort of opportunity).

  Programmed to be attracted by the allure of the prostitute’s behaviour, the mechanical man approached. The two figures linked arms and walked over to the wall on the other side of the stage. Leaning back against it the prostitute raised her skirt around her waist pulling the man towards her and thrusting her tongue into his mouth. The man pulled himself away and in one fluid move covered her mouth with one cupped hand, while reaching into his jacket pocket with the other. There was a silver glint as the ceiling lights reflected off a very long and very sharp knife the man had pulled out. Before the prostitute realised what was happening the knife had delivered a vicious slash to her neck. Despite the fact that the harlot was a machine, the visual effect of this attack was not diminished in any way. The blade had severed her main oil feed, sending a spray of warm, amber-coloured hydraulic fluid across the first three rows of the audience who were too stunned, and too sticky, to cry out in alarm. With the force of a butcher and the skill of a surgeon the man then delivered two further deep cuts across her belly, making it resemble a hot cross bun, albeit a hot cross bun that was haemorrhaging vital fluids at an alarming rate.

  The prostitute’s eyes dimmed and she slowly slumped to the stage. She writhed a few times as the last remaining volts of energy discharged then gave one last death rattle. If the audience had been disturbed by this violent display then they were positively distressed when the man reached into her exposed chest cavity and with the knife, deftly removed lengths of cabling, coolant tubes and her main capacitor. Placing these along side her lifeless body, the man wiped the knife on her petticoats and then placed it carefully back in his pocket. He stood up and moved away, standing silently but demonstrating, Dick felt, the tell-tale look of someone who’d just eviscerated a mechanical prostitute. The stunned audience remained frozen in their seats. Surprisingly, it was the monocle man who broke the silence first. He did this by standing up and clapping. After a few seconds he was joined by
a serious looking colleague towards the back of the auditorium who supplemented his clapping by shouting ‘Bravo! Bravo!’.

  The applause became as contagious as an outbreak of VD on the set of a cheap skin flick. Soon the entire audience were standing, well, except one or two of them who were so sticky from the oil that they were actually trapped in their seats. Vera smiled. Dick beamed. He drank in the adulation, vindicated that his proposal was a success. As the ovation died down and everyone became seated again, it was a senior Party member in the front row who spoke.

  ‘Mr. Brunel and Dr. Hargreaves. Thank you for an impressive demonstration’.

  Dick was about to respond but before he had the chance, the doctor had stood up and thanked the Party for their support, his colleagues for their assistance and Vera for her encouragement. The only person he didn’t acknowledge was Dick. If Dick had previously taken a dislike to Dr. Hargreaves and his supercilious attitude, then he now absolutely loathed him. The senior Party member continued. ‘We will of course be discussing the results in detail and presenting them to the Leader but I’m sure that I speak on behalf of my illustrious colleagues here that I am quietly confident that it will receive full backing and implementation as soon as possible’.

  Cue more applause, shouts of ‘Spiffing!’, ‘Well done, sir!’ and other polite words of encouragement.

  A small man in the middle of the audience spoke. ‘One question though, Mr. Brunel. Is the degree of violence we have just witnessed, necessarily? Surely the mechanical man could just swiftly terminate the harlot with a single knife wound and then just walk discretely away so as not to attract unwelcome attention?’

  Other members of the audience murmured in agreement.

  ‘He could do that’, Dick acknowledged, pleased that he was again the centre of attention. ‘But the extremely violent nature of these attacks is sure to be reported in the media. While these attacks obviously won’t discourage the mechanical harlots who will automatically obey their programming, they will act as a huge deterrent for any real women thinking of becoming prostitutes themselves’. Dick added, ‘Of course, the killer will replace the mechanical components removed from the victim’s bodies with authentic-looking imitation human organs’.

  The man who asked the question nodded and another serious looking man seated behind him spoke. ‘This mysterious figure, this ‘harlot hunter’ you’ve created, I’ve never seen anything like him. He’s not like any old Tom, Dick or Harry’.

  The audience murmured in agreement. Dick walked over to the mechanical man still standing silently on the stage and put his hand on its shoulder.

  ‘You’re right’, Dick agreed. ‘He’s special. He’s not like any old Tom, Dick or Harry. His name is Jack’. He paused. ‘Jack the Ripper. He was inspired by a historic figure I came across in my research. A figure from the original Victorian era… so you see there’s a certain symmetry to his reappearance now’.

  Another eruption of applause. The entire audience was again on its feet giving him an unprecedented level of vocal support. ‘Fuck you, Dr. Hargreaves’. Dick thought, ‘This is my show!’ Dick walked to the front of the stage, his arms held out, basking in the adoration directed at him. If he’d known that the whole demonstration was being filmed and watched remotely he probably wouldn’t have acted so over-confidently or so arrogantly. Many miles away the observer made notes about what had taken place and his thoughts about Dick. The last note written was ‘cocksure’.

  The Leader put his pen down and sat back to contemplate what he’d just seen.

  CHAPTER 17

  ‘How are you feeling?’, enquired Vera as an old man hobbled painfully into the empty office early the next morning. The old man was actually Dick, except he wasn’t actually an old man, he just acted like one. Slowly and painfully he lowered himself into his chair. He winced and he grimaced. He even flinched and cringed. His whole body ached; his bruised back was a fetching shade of black, purple and blue. His left shoulder was acutely painful – the result of it being popped into place after he dislocated it. Dick didn’t know what made him leap off that stage into the audience. Well actually, he did. It was the whole buzz and knowledge that at that moment, all the spectators loved him. The problem was that none of the assembled Party members, scientists or technicians in this era understood the concept of crowd surfing.

  Rather than catch Dick and propel him over their heads as he leapt off the stage, they panicked and performed an impromptu impersonation of the Red Sea. Dick remembered hurtling towards the unyielding floor and then, nothing. He’d been unconsciousness for about a minute before being revived and examined by a medical doctor in the audience who diagnosed the dislocated shoulder and kindly relocated it for him.

  ‘I’ve just seen the official report,’ Vera said, resting her hand on his shoulder.

  Dick recoiled in agony.

  ‘Sorry!’, Vera exclaimed. She replaced her hand much more gently and gave Dick’s shoulder a soft, almost sensuous, rub. An anxious Dick turned his head to look at her hand but in doing so cricked his neck, causing him yet more pain.

  Vera spoke as she continued rubbing, ‘The Party observers found your methods severe, yet satisfactory, and have made unconditional recommendations that Jack should be sent, ‘into the field’, as it were, to commence his work’.

  Her caresses continued in gentle circles. ‘I like brutality in a man’, she said in her low voice. ‘It’s a very appealing trait…’

  The rubbing was soothing and Dick gently closed his eyes, enjoying this temporary release from pain. He knew his solution was brutal. Taylor had told him that the Party was ruthless which is why he felt they would approve of his solution. The display was frightening in its violence but Dick didn’t have any qualms about sending Jack out to perform his dirty deeds. These were only robots after all, robots that were being decommissioned, as Jack would be, after his work was done. Dick suddenly shook himself alert and opened his eyes. He saw Vera a few inches from his face, staring into his eyes. In a reflex move he let out an involuntary scream and an equally shocked and alarmed Vera screamed back.

  Dick’s dislocated shoulder turned out to be a good cover for his protracted absence from work. In addition to wincing whenever he twisted or turned in an awkward way, Dick spent the rest of the day going about his normal duties; drafting reports, poring over statistics and analysing research findings. Project Gladstone was still very much under cover and as far as Dick was aware, no one in the department knew anything about it apart from Vera. She’d left early for a meeting and the office was empty apart from Dick who was just finishing his work for the evening, and Benjamin who sidled up to him.

  ‘I’m glad you’re back at work Jeremy. I’m pleased you’re recovering’, he said. ‘What exactly happened?’

  Dick gulped. A gulp which said, if it was at all possible to interpret gulps, ‘Fuck. I’ve just realised I never checked with Vera about the cover story for my illness and my time off’. ‘Er, I fell over at home’, Dick said rather unconvincingly. ‘Clumsy accident really. I slipped getting out of the shower and dislocated my shoulder’.

  ‘Dislocated it, eh?’ Benjamin gave him the sort of look that indicated he didn’t think this was a serious enough injury to warrant two weeks away from work.

  ‘Yes. Dislocated it and also fractured it. In eight places. Cracks everywhere. Terrible mess, terrible. Lucky I still have use of my arm. And my shoulder’. Dick switched off his computer terminal. He wanted to leave before Benjamin asked any more tricky questions. Unfortunately he was too late.

  ‘Really?’, said Benjamin. ‘We were told you were ill in hospital’.

  ‘I was’, Dick said, completely and utterly forgetting that this had been part of the cover story. ‘There were, er, complications’.

  ‘Such as’, Benjamin enquired.

  ‘Pardon?’, said Dick anxiously, playing for time.

  ‘What sort of complications were there?’, pressed Benjamin.

  ‘Pardon?’, said Dic
k again, playing for more time.

  ‘What complications occurred?’. Benjamin wouldn’t let this go.

  Dick said the first thing that came into his head and for once, it was quite a good first thing, ‘I got an infection from the fracture and it caused problems’. He pointed to his lap and whispered, ‘Down there’. Benjamin raised an eyebrow. Dick knew he had to say something about his condition that would put an end to Benjamin’s prying and this meant something so personal and so unpleasant that no one would want to say something like, ‘Let’s have a look, then’.

  ‘I got acute blood poisoning of my testicles’, Dick explained. ‘They swelled up like footballs and secreted a thick greenish crispy pus out of my scrotum that smelled of vinegar and stilton. It was awful Benjamin. Just awful! It’s still weeping a bit now’.

  ‘I see’. Benjamin’s tone indicate he didn’t believe a word of anything Dick had just said but his expression implied he certainly wasn’t going to call his bluff and ask him to verify it. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Anyway…’, he added, ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘On my recovery?’, Dick enquired, as he attempted to find a pain-free way of putting on his jacket.

  Benjamin sidled even closer to Dick and lowered his voice. ‘No. On your recent demonstration. I hear it was quite a success’.

  Dick frowned as Benjamin continued, ‘News travels fast, especially, if like me, you’ve got a close relative in the Party’. He looked at Dick more intently. ‘Yes, that’s right Dick. You’re not the only person to have this sort of association. It seems your solution to Project Gladstone has been highly regarded.’

  ‘Glad-what?’, asked Dick, this time frowning more severely to try and elicit the right degree of surprise.